Project: Fantastic Garden
by pingo1387
Summary: What starts out as an innocent virtual reality program goes horribly wrong. Will Fantasy win over Reality? Based on Cosmo's "The Fantastic Garden"/"Star Girl and the Illusion Paradise" series.
1. The Girl's Fantastic Garden

**As the summary says, this story is based off of Cosmo's series "The Fantastic Garden" and "Star Girl and the Illusion Paradise" (also known as "Star Girl and the Illusory Musical"). If you haven't seen/heard those series, please do so before reading this story. The complete list of songs can be found on the Vocaloid Wiki. **

* * *

I shuffled to my seat and sat myself down on the hard metal chair. Looking around, I saw that others were doing the same, quietly talking amongst them. Turning to a programmer next to me, I asked "So what did Madam President call us here for?"

She shrugged. "Search me. I think it's supposed to be a surprise."

I noticed three people sitting at the end of the table and raised my eyebrows. Nudging her, I gestured to them and murmured "Speaking of surprises."

She glanced down too and nodded. "I wonder why they came. These things don't normally interest him, do they?"

Shaking my head, I looked back at the three people. The one sitting in the middle of the other two was Dr. Realist (though I wasn't sure if this was his real name or not). As mentioned earlier, he didn't normally come to the monthly meetings, so it was a bit surprising to see him there – but then again, this meeting _was_ the second in a month, so perhaps he was just as curious as everyone else. His dark purple hair (which faded to a cool blue-green as it got nearer to the end) fell to his shoulders, with a section that was longer than the others hanging to his elbow on his right side. His skin was a bit pale, and he wore a long, white, and open robe, as well as a smallish round monocle (it was held on his nose as a pince-nez). Around his neck was a necklace, a black cord that had two metal symbols hanging off of it – two Greek letters. I'm not sure which ones they were, but one of them looked like a 'p' and the other looked like a tent, or a triangle without a bottom. His manner was that of a gentleman – speaking politely, letting others go ahead of himself, etc. Nobody that I knew was quite sure of what position he held in the company; I'd heard rumors that he was blackmailing Madam President, and others that he had saved her life once. Whatever the reason, no one complained about his presence, and so here he stayed.

The two sitting on either side of him were Rho and Lambda, two of the oddest girls I'd ever seen. Their hair color mimicked the Doctor's own, but their hairstyles were different – both girls' hair was wavy, but while Lambda's hair fell to her waist, Rho's hair was cropped just above her shoulders. They always wore black-and-white gothic Lolita-style dresses with similarly styled small hats. Each had one red eye and one green eye (they _must_ have been colored contacts) and their skin was a bit pale (like the Doctor's). They seemed to act as Dr. Realist's assistants, carrying things to him if asked and running errands.

All three of them had a mysterious air about them; not just because of their unusual looks, but because it was near-impossible to tell how old they all were. Obviously, Dr. Realist was older than the girls, but other than that, the three seemed almost timeless.

I realized that while I was gathering my thoughts about the trio, I had been sort of staring at them. I also realized that they were staring back. Giving them a sheepish grin and a little wave, I turned back to the rest of the table, where I saw that the last few stragglers were sitting down, and most with a coffee and/or a muffin. The majority of people were chatting quietly, casting glances at the door that Madam President was expected to come through.

And a moment later, she did – startling about half of us, including me, due to the fact that she slammed open the door with a loud exclamation of "_Good_ morning, everyone! I trust you're all wide awake and ready for the meeting?"

She was a young woman, probably in her mid-twenties – a bit young to be running a company, but she did it well. She wore classy business attire most of the time (on Casual Fridays, it was sweatpants and T-shirts) and had long brown hair and bright brown eyes. Being a morning person, she didn't seem to understand why most of the employees grumbled about having to go to work from six to two, instead of the generic office hours of nine to five. It was almost like being in high school again – except that in high school, we weren't paid and we didn't get free coffee. As her title implied, she was the president of the company – no, she was the _director_ of the company officially; everyone just referred to her as Madam President (per her request). Since she was at the building earlier and later than anyone else, some seemed to think that she lived in the building itself; this rumor was perpetuated by the fact that nobody had seen her car (if she had one) and someone swore that they saw a bed in her office. I had never seen her office, and I didn't really believe this rumor, but… you never know.

"Well," she said when no one replied to her query, "even if you're not awake, what you're going to hear from me in a minute will wake you up faster than a double-shot espresso with needles in it!"

Did I mention that she had a strange sense of humor?

"Now, I'm sure that you all remember the… um, _incident_ a couple of years ago…"

There were a few uncomfortable looks and nodding. But some merely looked confused, whispering to their neighbors, probably wondering what she was talking about.

"Oh, right," she said, noticing the confusion, "some of you are new here… okay then! I'll just tell you really quickly what happened. You know that our company Stella tries to provide the public with ways to escape reality, and that basically our only work is producing addictive video games. When we were first starting out a couple years ago, however, we tried to produce a safe hallucinogen. But due to my impatience, the drug (which we named 'Θ') wasn't tested enough before its official release. Because of this, there were some… accidents. I took full responsibility, of course…"

She pulled out a folded piece of paper, unfolded it, smoothed it down, and handed it to the person next to her, who skimmed it, raised his eyebrows, and passed it on. When it came to me, I found myself holding an old newspaper article – heavily creased, slightly yellowed, soft, and a small coffee stain in one corner.

**Θ FOUND UNSAFE**

MACDONALD, ** – The latest craze sweeping the market, the hallucinogen Θ, has been removed from drugstore shelves. Several individuals have perished while under the influence of the drug. One of these cases involved a sophomore at **** high school. According to witnesses, she jumped off a pier while flapping her arms, apparently under the impression that she could fly. An autopsy revealed that she had taken Θ not twenty minutes earlier.  
"Of course, we will stop production immediately, and the families of the deceased will receive payments. W at Stella are truly sorry for wh h th d

It was torn at the bottom, obscuring what was left of the article. I passed it on; I noticed that when it reached Dr. Realist and the girls, they didn't even look at it, instead pushing it on to the next person.

When the article had come full circle, Madam President folded it up, tucked it away, and continued speaking.

"This was a pretty big setback for our company, but we recovered quickly, and here we are now.

"But _soon_, very soon, we shall no longer have to create mindless electronic entertainment! Ladies and gentlemen, behold!" She threw her arms out on either side of her dramatically. "I give you… The Fantastic Garden!"

The lights suddenly went out. We were only in the dark for a moment, however, because a second later two spotlights flicked on from the back of the room. They moved around in circles for a bit before pointing on a medium-sized mural that Madam President was hurriedly stepping away from. The mural showed a girl that looked a bit like Madam President, holding a paintbrush and skimming it across the white canvas, bright colors trailing in its wake, revealing a glimpse of a colorful world.

A few people clapped uncertainly. Madam President lowered her arms and called "Lights!"

The spotlights shut off and the normal lights flicked back on. When my vision returned, I saw two janitors rolling the spotlights away.

"Thank you, Noah and Luis," she said calmly, waving them out. "Oh, and thanks to marketing for designing this painting."

The marketing group (who always sat together at these things) nodded smugly as one. Then again, almost everything they did was smug and self-assured.

"Now, any questions?" she said eagerly.

I raised my hand. "What exactly is this 'Fantastic Garden', Madam President?"

"I'm glad you asked!" she exclaimed, though it was obvious that she wanted that question to be asked. "The Fantastic Garden is a completely new and innovative way to escape reality. It will be a total V.R. experience – a special chair, goggles, the works. The idea is…" she cast a glance around the table. "I'm sure you've all done something you've regretted, or are suffering through something right now. You all have something you'd rather not existed, correct?"

As with earlier, there were some uncomfortable looks around the table and nodding. Some seemed defiant, as if to say "What do you know about me?"

"The Fantastic Garden," she said, "this program, will temporarily make you forget the bad things and create a world as if they had never happened. Your own mind creates the scenario, so it will be completely comfortable and personalized. It will be able to ease you back into reality so that you can live with the thing you don't want. Doesn't it sound _great_!?"

Many were nodding and smiling, agreeing with her. She clapped her hands.

"Excellent! I'll be giving you all your tasks for getting started on it, then…"

"Madam President?" It was Dr. Realist who spoke, standing up to make himself heard. "If I may say something?"

"Hm? Yes, what is it, Doctor?" she said impatiently.

"I wonder whether this kind of program is a good idea. There's a good chance that the user will become addicted to the program and not want to return to reality. If this happens, the—"

"Oh, you're always worrying too much!" She protested, waving a hand and rolling her eyes. "It'll be fine this time. I'll trust you to supervise the work—I seem to remember that you weren't in the company when we were producing Θ."

"Very well," he agreed, sitting back down. Rho leaned over and murmured something to him. He nodded and shrugged, and they turned their attention back to the front, where Madam President was passing out instructions to everyone.

"Well?" she said a minute after she'd finished. "What are you waiting for? Let's get started!"

* * *

**"Θ" is a Greek letter that can be read as a shorthand for "death". It was also used for the number 9, but usually, 5 and 4 were used instead due to the connection to death (not unlike the Japanese and the number 4, which sounds like their word for death).**

**The two Greek letters that Dr. Realist has on his necklace are "****ρ" (rho) and "****λ**" (lambda).


	2. The Runaway Boy and Lost Girl

_Several months later_

It was finally ready for testing. We'd put out an ad in the paper about a week ago, and someone had called in. A girl named Gumi had put down a form for testing. According to the information, she was 15 years old (since she was a minor, her parents' signatures were at the bottom along with hers). Her reason for wanting to try out the software was that her boyfriend had recently gotten hit by a train and died, and she wanted to forget that. She was due to arrive any minute now.

"Doesn't Madam President want to see this?" I asked the person next to me. "This is what she's been waiting for."

He shrugged. "I guess not. She's still locked up in her office. Someone tried calling her, but she didn't answer, so I don't know."

"Hm . . ."

Around the time that the software was completed, Madam President had locked herself up in her office, leaving a note that said "I will remain in my office for an indefinite amount of time. I will trust Dr. Realist to take control of the company in the meantime. Thank you and have a good day!"

And so Dr. Realist had taken over the place for now. He was here, too, waiting for the girl. Rho and Lambda were next to him on either side. All three of them were expressionless as usual.

"By the way," said my companion, "where did we get all this equipment again? To me, it was like it appeared overnight."

"Madam President has a friend at that company Chemical System LE. She convinced him to get us this stuff cheap."

The door opened and Gumi stepped in. She had short green hair, a petit figure, and was wearing her school uniform. She fidgeted with her hair as she stood in the doorway awkwardly.

"Come in," said Dr. Realist. She nodded and stepped inside to face the five people that were there.

"Hello, Gumi," he said. "I am Dr. Realist." He introduced the rest of us, and said "Are you ready to begin?"

She hesitantly nodded. "Will it hurt?" she blurted out.

"It shouldn't," he said. "But you are the first to test this, so I think that after it's over, you should be the one to tell us that."

She nodded again and glanced at one of the chairs in the room. It was tall and large enough for a full-grown man to sit in comfortably. There were straps on the armrests and where the legs would rest, as well as headwear attached to the back that would cover the head like a helmet and block the face from the outside world.

"I sit there, right?" she asked, glancing at Dr. Realist.

"Only if you wish to continue with the experiment," he said.

She walked to the chair and sat down. I went over to her and adjusted the straps and helmet so that they fit her snugly. My partner sat down at one of the computers and looked at me expectantly. I nodded and he turned the power on. The television screen hooked up onto the chairs flickered. I sat at my computer and we started typing commands into them. The screen flickered again and turned on to reveal a city—we were seeing through Ms. Gumi's eyes, seeing what she saw in her V.R. experience.

She was calling "Where are you? Where are you!? Kaito!" and appeared to be running. She stumbled once and continued running, turning her head this way and that in the city. Apparently this Kaito was her deceased boyfriend.

"Shall I?" Dr. Realist questioned me. I hesitated.

"No. Let's wait another minute."

All that continued to happen was her running through the city, calling her boyfriend's name over and over. She stopped strangers on the street to ask them if they had seen him, but the shadowy, indistinct figures ignored her and pushed past.

Something strange happened then. A flicker, a flash of something appeared in the middle of the screen, like the kind of subliminal message they used to put in movie theaters. It was impossible to tell exactly what it was—it had gone by so quickly—but it seemed to be human and was completely white (as far as I could tell). I noticed Dr. Realist's forehead momentarily crease with worry. Rho and Lambda looked up at him. He looked down and shook his head.

And then we saw Gumi approaching train tracks. I nodded and said "If you will, Doctor."

"Indeed." He walked over and sat himself down in the second chair, adjusting the helmet and allowing my partner to adjust the other straps. He sat back down and we typed more commands into the computer.

Dr. Realist, sent there to help Gumi remember her reality as part of the experiment, didn't appear on the screen. But he must have been doing something, because Gumi stopped in her tracks on the tracks. She looked around as if just realizing where she was. A train approached on the tracks. She stood in its path and held out her arms, waiting . . .

"Disconnect it!" I exclaimed. "Quick!"

My partner and I typed more commands into the computers. He turned off the power. The screen went blank, but before it did, there was another subliminal flash of the strange white figure. And then it was gone.

I went over and undid the straps on Gumi, lifting her helmet as well, while my partner did the same to Dr. Realist. The Doctor rose and strode over to Rho and Lambda, the former of who was watching Gumi with worry written on her face. Ms. Gumi had a blank expression on her face, similar to how the Doctor's and the girls' almost always looked, but hers was . . . empty. The trio always had something behind their expressionless faces, something in their eyes, but Gumi's blankness was unnervingly empty.

She rose and walked towards the door.

"Ms. Gumi!" I called. "Please, wait! We need to ask you some questions! Don't you want your money?"

She completely ignored my calls as if she were deaf and stepped into the door.

"Gumi!" cried Rho, starting forward. Dr. Realist put a hand on her shoulder. She stopped and glared at him with tears in her eyes—the most expression that I had ever seen on her. He shook his head and murmured something in her ear. She nodded with apparent effort and resumed her expressionless face.

My partner and I went after Gumi, but she was gone by then, and it was impossible to tell where she'd gone after she was out of sight.

* * *

The next day's paper had a small article on a high school girl that had committed suicide on the train tracks the day before. Further investigation by Stella revealed that the girl's parents' signatures were forged.


	3. Anti the Fantastic Garden

I pace in my office, fighting the confusion and desperation rising in my mind. What's wrong with me? Wasn't I so happy to have my dream coming true at last, to have a perfect way to escape reality?

Yes, that thing we call Reality. It's a disgusting thing, really, so full of evils and wrongs. Everywhere you look, there is more poverty, more war, almost like there is a new one being started every day, bad news in the media every day, not one piece of good news, no, no wars were ending, poverty hadn't been vanquished, and Dr. Realist—

Oh, yes, Dr. Realist. I don't know why I let him in this company in the first place—no, yes I do. Didn't he say he was here to make sure things didn't go too far? A fine job he'd done, then, with the drug! The second I collect my thoughts, I'll fire him right away! Him and those creepy girls, Rho and Lambda!

But is Reality really so bad? In fact, is the Garden an even worse place to be? You forget your reality and are plunged into a personalized Reality (Fantasy)—or so it's supposed to be, I've never seen it tested before. Of course I hadn't, how could I, when I've locked myself in my office, because Reality is really a wonderful thing, despite the horrible things in the world—

And yet . . . the Garden, the Garden! The thing I've been working toward ever since I started Stella, no, even before that! The Garden is my dream come true; to escape Reality and dive into Fantasy (Fake Reality), but the Garden is truly an anomaly, something that shouldn't exist in this world—

I look at the feather pen on my desk, with the rainbow colors, which shimmer in the fluorescent lights. This is the first thing I used to write down the ideas for the Garden, the thing that I had had since childhood, the thing that all my ideas (abominations) are written with, the thing I use to create my Reality—

In a fit of rage, I scream, seize the pen in both hands, and snap it in half.

Strange, shimmering smoke rises from the broken halves, the same color as the feathers, rising towards the ceiling, and then—and then—it moves to the other side of the office, though there is no wind to direct it—

My eyes follow the smoke and come to rest on the chair. The chair. The chair that is part of the Garden. The chair that would take you to your own Reality (Falsified Existence)—

As if in a trance, I'm drawn to the chair, not caring how it had gotten in my office. I sit down and place my arms and legs in the proper places. The straps wind themselves around my arms and legs tightly, restricting movement. The helmet and goggles lower, blocking out my view of Reality . . .


	4. The Nun and Idol Girl

We got another applicant for testing within the next week. For some reason, she had put her name down as Miku Hatsune, the pop singer. We'd have to ask for her real name when she arrived, which should be later today.

About an hour later, a young woman entered the testing room, followed by an older man wearing a suit. The woman took off her sunglasses and flipped her long turquoise ponytails over her shoulders.

"I believe I have an appointment here," she said quietly. I felt my jaw drop.

"Y-You're actually—!? You're really Miku Hatsune!?"

She sighed. "What name does it say on the paper? Abraham Lincoln?"

The suited man—presumably her agent, or possibly bodyguard—cleared his throat. "Ms. Hatsune does have an appointment here. If we could proceed right away, please."

"I believe that we're the ones in charge here," I said, vexed at his attitude. "Who are you to tell us—?"

"No, he's right, we should get started," my partner muttered. I sighed.

"Ms. Hatsune, you did read the contract, correct?"

"I skimmed it," she said offhandedly. "Burton here read it all the way through three times. The third time he used a magnifying glass and held it up to the light."

The man (whose name was apparently Burton) coughed and nodded.

"And you are over eighteen, correct?"

She glared at me. "I'm nineteen. Doesn't everyone know that?"

I nodded. "Just checking, miss. And could you tell us your reason for wanting to test the program . . . ? We need it for our files; I can assure you that all our information is classified unless the participant agrees to release it to the public."

She glanced at Burton uncertainly before turning back. Suddenly she didn't seem like a haughty pop idol anymore, but a normal, nervous 19-year-old. She took a deep breath, bit her lip, and rolled up her long sleeves.

Her wrists were covered in bandages.

"When . . . when I started losing fans . . . because the music I sang wasn't as popular . . ." she said. "I started . . . cutting myself to get their attention again. I don't remember if the media got a hold of that . . ."

My partner wrote this down on a clipboard. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hatsune. Thank you for telling us. If you're ready to begin, please sit in that chair over there."

"This won't hurt, will it?" she asked, looking at the chair apprehensively.

"It shouldn't," Dr. Realist said—speaking for the first time since the pop idol had walked in the room. "Our previous applicant never told us if she felt any pain. Would you let us know after we're through with testing?"

She nodded. "Fine by me."

"How long will this take, exactly?" Burton asked impatiently. "Ms. Hatsune needs her rest."

Ms. Hatsune shot him a look that to me said "I can take care of myself". I said "I'm not sure. With our previous applicant, though, it was around ten minutes or so before we disconnected the machine."

"Fine," Burton said. "Ms. Hatsune?"

"Yes, yes," she said, clearly annoyed. She took off her coat, handed it to Burton, and approached the chair. She sat down and my partner and I adjusted the straps, helmet, and goggles. We sat at our computers, nodded at each other, and began the sequence.

The screen flickered on. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I saw—Ms. Hatsune, the pop idol, in a convent. She wore the traditional nun's clothing and was praying before an altar. Her wrists were free of injury. She looked . . . at peace. It was a calming scene.

The scene skipped to her at a desk, looking bored. She was shuffling through letters from citizens of the fantasy city. Most of the letters' content was blurred and unreadable, but I caught notice of one letter that read "Sister, I can't find my boyfriend!" But Ms. Hatsune simply sighed, crumpled it up, and tossed it into a bin, muttering "What is this, a consultation office?"

As the rest of the virtual day passed by, she prayed some more, washed windows, and prayed again. Finally, the sun set on the fantasy city, and the scene changed. Ms. Hatsune was in casual nightclothes—an overlarge t-shirt, probably covering a pair of panties—with a Pocky stick in her mouth and a laptop on the ground. She was clicking around on it, the screen alternately displaying depressing news and fun games.

"Doctor?" I said, turning to Dr. Realist. He nodded and sat in his chair. I adjusted the straps while he fixed the helmet. I returned to the computer while my partner typed in commands.

On the computer (Ms. Hatsune's virtual computer) appeared a strange thing: A bright yellow cartoon-y star, with a small black top hat, a cane in one arm (or point), a monocle, and a fantastic gray handlebar mustache. This must have been Dr. Realist's avatar, though I couldn't imagine why it looked like that.

"Computer," said Ms. Hatsune in a bored tone, "what can I do to make my life more interesting?"

Dr. Realist (the star) was silent for a moment. Then he said:

"Why not become an idol?"

Ms. Hatsune brightened. She nodded and stood up. A change took place: Her nightclothes and messy hair faded away in a blur of pixels to become a miniskirt, a tank top with a sailor's tie around the neck, and an ear microphone.

The scene dissolved and changed. Now it showed Ms. Hatsune in her full idol glory, singing up on stage with hundreds of virtual, blurred fans down below.

Among those fans, I could have sworn that I saw a girl with short green hair, a petite figure, and a school uniform on.

The song ended and the crowd cheered. The scene changed again. Now Ms. Hatsune was in front of the church's altar, clutching a sharp knife and trembling.

"Ignore me, will you . . . ?" she muttered in a crazed fashion. "I'll teach you a lesson! This is what happens!"

"Shall I?" Dr. Realist questioned from his seat.

"Please do," my partner said worriedly.

The doctor fell silent again. Onscreen, Ms. Hatsune had just raised the knife when she froze. She clutched her head in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Her eyes opened and she stared at her wrists in horror, where bandages were appearing before everyone's eyes.

A hand rested on her shoulder. From our vantage point, we saw that it was a man who must have been the priest. He had dark blue hair in a shag cut; his eyes weren't visible to us.

"Sister," he said gently, "are you al—?"

She whipped around, the knife still in her hand—

_SHK_

The young priest collapsed to the ground, bleeding freely from his neck. Ms. Hatsune stepped back, letting the bloody knife fall to the ground. Her hands, splattered with red, covered her mouth in horror. Her idol clothes faded away to show her wearing nun's clothing again. She knelt in front of the altar, shaking, and clasped her hands together in prayer.

"Let's get on disconnecting this thing," my partner said quietly. I nodded and we entered commands into the computers. A moment later, the image on the screen faded away. My partner helped Dr. Realist out of the chair while I helped Ms. Hatsune. I was alarmed to see that her face held the same unnerving blankness that Gumi's had. Burton grabbed her arm to help, with no resistance from the idol.

"I'll take over from here," he said curtly.

"Please," I said quickly. "Please, keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't try to . . . hurt herself in any way."

"Sir," he said, "that's part of my job description."

The pair walked out, Burton slowing his brisk pace to match Ms. Hatsune's.

As my partner turned off the system, I ran to the door to catch up with Dr. Realist and the girls. Slowing to walk with them, I said "Dr. Realist?"

He looked at me.

"I don't know if you saw this or not when you were in the program—did you happen to notice a green-haired girl amongst Ms. Hatsune's virtual fans?"

He hesitated. "I did."

"What do you make of that?"

"We can't draw any conclusions," he said ambiguously. "We shall have to wait and see what happens."

"But that letter, too—did you see that one that we could read?"

"Assuming we're thinking of the same thing, yes, I did."

"So don't those two things mean—"

"They don't mean anything at the moment," he said quietly, "though I have a very bad feeling about this. Rest assured, I shall keep things under control."

I nodded uneasily.

* * *

On the front page of the next day's paper, one of those side column articles alerted the public to the fact that the famous Miku Hatsune, the pop singer, had become a nun for unknown reasons. Her agent had refused to disclose any information on the matter.


	5. The Childish Girl and the Grown-Up World

**The song has Gumi playing Childish Girl, but since I already have her for Lost Girl, I'm using Meiko for this one.**

* * *

"Who is it we have again?" I asked my partner as we waited for our next subject. We'd recently made some modifications to the program in hopes that it would work . . . _better_ than it had the previous two times.

"That weird woman," he said. "Reiko or something like that. She said that she's sick of—"

"I remember now," I interrupted. "I don't see why these people don't just go to a counselor or therapist."

He shrugged. A knock came from the door and a moment later, a woman entered. She was very cute, with brown hair in a nice shoulder cut, a white blouse with a pink vest over it, sensible shoes, and a short black skirt over dark pantyhose. She fidgeted with her rectangular glasses.

"This is the place?" she asked.

"Are you Reiko?" I asked.

"Meiko," she corrected. "Yes, I'm Meiko."

"Then yes, you're in the right place," I said. "Should we begin right away, or . . . ?" I glanced at Dr. Realist questioningly. Rho and Lambda were at his side as usual, but they were reading this time. I couldn't see the titles of the books.

"In your form," he said, "it was stated that your reason for wanting to use this program was that you're 'Tired of the grown-up world'. Could you elaborate on that, please? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

She started absently adjusting her glasses. "I . . . well . . . I always thought that being an adult would mean being whatever I wanted to be. But . . . it's just too much responsibility!" she burst out. "'Do this, do that,' no time for fun, no time to do what I _want_—"

"So what you want," Dr. Realist said gently, "is to be a child again."

She stared at him, her breathing slowing slightly, her eyes a bit watery. "Yes," she said softly. "That's exactly what I want."

"Thank you," he said. "I think we can begin now, if everyone's ready . . . ?" he looked at my partner and me questioningly, and we nodded.

She pointed at the chair. My partner nodded. She stepped forward and sat in the thing hooked up to the machine, lowering the helmet herself and strapping in her legs—

"Oh, wait," I said. "I forgot to mention, we're not using the straps this time around—part of the experiment. It should be fine, don't worry."

"_This _time around?" she asked, noting my word choice. "How many other applicants have you had?"

"Two," Dr. Realist replied. "Both of them were women, as a matter of fact."

"How did their things turn out?" she demanded. "Sorry, I just want to know what to expect."

"Their experiences in the virtual world," Dr. Realist said carefully, "were, for the most part, fine for them."

"Oh," she said. "Okay then."

I shot Dr. Realist a look. He pretended not to notice.

Meiko unstrapped her legs and settled herself into the chair. After I made sure that the helmet was on correctly, I sat at the computer and typed in commands with my partner.

"Hey," I said, leaning over. "Which viewpoint are we doing for this one, third-person or first?"

"Third," he said, tapping away. "First makes me nauseous."

"Uh-huh," I muttered, going back to the computer. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Can we get you in there right away, so that you can intervene right away if needed?"

"Of course." He sat in his chair as the screen flickered on and lowered his helmet.

* * *

I sat at my desk, filling out papers for the company as people dropped more and more papers on the pile, I could feel the weight of responsibility crushing me—

Finally, closing time. I put on my jacket, grabbed my briefcase, and left as quickly as possible. But the train was crowded anyway by the time I got there. I had to stand up, nothing to hold onto, crushed by people on every side—

I finally got off the train and started walking home, where I could maybe take a bath, watch TV, and read my book—wait, no, I had to finish something for work again—

My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket.

"-Hello, may I speak to Ms. Meiko?-" the voice on the other end asked.

"Yes," I responded wearily. "Speaking. Can I help you?"

"-There's something else you need to have done by tomorrow. I don't know how long it'll take you, but forget about doing anything leisurely tonight. Can you—"

I threw my phone away into the crowd, not caring who it hit, dropped my briefcase, shed my jacket, and ran. I ran through the streets, pushing past the strangers in the streets—I saw a teenage girl with short green hair and a school uniform on—I even wished I could go back to high school at this point—passing a church, I saw a nun in the window with long turquoise hair, praying—must be nice to be at peace like that—

I ran into a line of big-shot salary-men and stumbled backwards. They held papers and waved them in my face, shouting to do this, do that, _get this done, don't have fun—_

I grabbed my head and yelled in frustration, pushing past them and collapsing in the street, crying. Why? Why was this happening? The adult life was supposed to be _fun_, right, right? Why can't I do whatever I want? Why all this responsibility?!

Someone tugged on my shirt—a child's hand. I looked up, tears streaming down my face, to see myself as a child, wearing a pink overall dress, holding a teddy bear, and with long brown hair and innocent eyes. She smiled at me and pointed towards a hole in the street; a hole that was glowing white . . .

I crawled towards it; when I reached it, I sat on the edge, looked down, and let myself drop. It felt as though I was falling in slow motion, and I was forgetting something . . . what was I forgetting?

* * *

I opened my eyes and nothing was there. It was just me, four of my friends, and ground and sky. We didn't know what to do, so we decided to play tag!

After a while we got tired. I looked up and saw the stars—they were so pretty! I saw one that had a mustache and a hat and a cane and one of those things that you put over one eye. It looked really silly! I looked up at it and said "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, I wish for a new game to play! From Meiko."

And then, and then, the sky opened up! Me and my friends yelled "Wow!" A bunch of junk started falling from the hole in the sky. We went over to it and started playing.

"Hey!" I said. "We can make a whole city with this stuff!"

"Yeah!" my friends said.

We started building with the junk that kept falling from the hole. Before long, we made a big city, and we were the leaders! We named the town 'Paradise Town' because we were so happy there!

We got to play with a bunch of stuff that we had never played with before! Pistols, things that smelled strange, rubber wheels . . . a bunch of stuff!

Someone was playing with a pistol. He pointed it at someone else. "I'm gonna shoot you!" he yelled.

"Oh, no!" the other one said. He ran away laughing while the one with the pistol chased him.

"I got you!" he said happily, running in front of the other one and pointing the pistol at him. "I'm gonna shoot you! I'm gonna shoot—"

BANG

The second boy fell to the ground. The one with the pistol dropped it and looked really scared. "Hey," he said, "are you okay?"

The boy on the ground didn't move.

"Hey! Get up! You're scaring me!" the boy crawled towards him and looked at his face. He started crying and looked at me. I was staring at him. "I-I didn't mean it! I didn't mean to!"

We had a funeral for the boy who was shot. It was very sad and a lot of people cried.

My friends and I met after that. We decided that the city wasn't good enough as it was now, so we should make some changes to it. After a lot of meetings, we decided to lay down some rules for Paradise Town.

"From now on," I said over the loudspeaker, "there'll be jobs. Everyone has to work a certain amount of time, and if you don't work, there'll be a _scaaary_ punishment!"

People started working. Some of them weren't working, so we had to give them more job time. The ones who did good got playtime.

People started fighting with each other. A bunch of them, complaining, came into the building that the leaders lived in and started yelling.

"I don't want to work!" wailed one.

"Why can't I play freely?" demanded another.

"It's not fair!"

"I'm tired!"

"I wanna play!"

"Why can't I do the things that I want!?"

The system was working, and I think the city became peaceful (?), but no one was having any fun. This wasn't turning out at all like it was supposed to. What had happened to our happy Paradise Town?

And . . . and where had I felt these things before?

I walked out into the city and looked up into the hole, where junk was still falling.

I saw where it came from.

I remembered.

I had been through this before.

How could we not have noticed?

Our world had become just like that boring adult's world I had so despised.

I clutched my head. The town was fading away . . .

I opened my eyes and found myself an adult again: short hair, sensible outfit, in the middle of a busy city.

Why?

_Why?_

* * *

"Ms. Meiko?" I said, taking the helmet off of her. "Ms. Meiko, are you okay?"

Her eyes had the now familiar blankness that the last two had had. "Where is it?" she said softly.

"Where is what?" I asked as Dr. Realist took off his helmet and stood up.

"My town," she said, looking up at me but not really seeing me. "My friends."

"Ms. Meiko, they're not—"

She looked out the window. "I'm gonna look out there."

And she stood up and walked quickly out of the room, breaking into a run as she left. I remembered what had happened with Gumi and I yelled for my partner to come with me as I ran after her.

I chased her down and out of the building with my partner. She was running through a busy street. Cars honked and people yelled at her to get out of the road, crazy woman, what the hell do you think you're doing—

She was approaching a construction crew. They were around an open manhole. She ran faster towards the manhole. The crew yelled at her, tried to stop her, but it was no use—

* * *

_I'm going back, I'm going back, we'll do better this time, we'll make the town happy—_

* * *

I stopped and stared, horrified, at the manhole where Meiko had disappeared, and the single shoe that laid next to it.


	6. Adventurous Girl and Miniature Garden

**Full chapter title, since it wouldn't fit: The Adventurous Girl and the Miniature Garden Game**

* * *

"Strange," muttered my partner, looking at a paper. I looked up in exasperation.

"You've been saying that for the past five minutes! For God's sake, _what's_ strange?!"

He held up a paper. I stiffened when I saw that it was an application for testing. Then I squinted at the word written on the top in red marker.

"'URGENT'?" I read aloud. "Why would they mark this as urgent?"

In answer, he handed it to me. I read it carefully and felt something catch in my throat.

"We have to do this one," I stated. He grinned.

"You're such a pansy."

"Did _you_ read it all the way through?!"

"Yes. Notice that I'm _not _the one who's almost crying."

"I'm not crying!"

"Well, it doesn't matter. I already showed it to Dr. Realist and he said that moving the equipment should be fine."

I frowned. "You know, those three . . . something bugs me about them."

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"What, they don't bother you?"

"Of course they do. But, I dunno, I don't mind having them around. It's like . . . they belong here."

"In this company?"

"In this world."

I opened my mouth, closed it, and shrugged in a non-committal way. "So we're doing this . . . tomorrow?"

"Well, we're not doing it today."

I glared at him.

* * *

I had no idea how they did it, but Dr. Realist and the girls managed to smuggle all of the necessary equipment into the hospital _and_ hook it up without anyone noticing. We were to arrive at three o'clock that day.

When the clock struck three, we were heading to room 101, where the girl and her parents were supposed to be. My partner and I entered to find Dr. Realist, Rho, and Lambda standing off to the side. Lambda was looking down sadly—this was unusual for her, since she, along with Rho and the Doctor, almost never displayed any kind of emotion. Rho noticed her looking down and nudged her. Lambda nodded, straightened up, and resumed her emotionless mask.

A man and a woman—presumably the client's parents—were sitting in chairs next to the bed set in the center of the room. They forced a smile onto their faces and rose to greet us as we entered.

And then there was the girl. She was very small and thin, lying down in her bed, her blue hair spilling over the pillow. She wore a white hospital gown with 101 printed on an arm. An IV was attached to her right arm, and an EKG was hooked up to her chest. Her legs . . .

_Beep_

_ Beep_

_ Beep_

Her legs ended just below her hips—this was evident from the way the sheets were laid across her body.

"Hi," she said in a cheerful voice, though it was a bit quivery. "Are you going to make me better?"

I glanced at my partner. "It's something like that," my partner said quietly.

She brightened. "Yay! I haven't been well in a long—" she was cut off by a fit of coughing. Her parents immediately attended to her, sitting her up and giving her water. Once the fit subsided, she whispered "Sorry."

"We should get started before someone comes in," I said worriedly. "This isn't exactly following hospital regulations."

"No one will come in," said Dr. Realist. "Rho, Lambda, and I have made sure of that."

I raised an eyebrow but didn't question him further. We started hooking up the equipment as best as possible without disturbing the other machines.

"Don't worry," I said to the girl's parents and the girl. "It won't hurt and it's harmless as far as we know."

"It won't affect her—cancer?" the mother whispered. I shook my head.

"It shouldn't."

I was starting to sound like Dr. Realist, I thought to myself.

"And the . . . amputation," the father said, "that will . . ."

"It's her mind that creates the illusions," I said quietly. "I can't say for sure what she'll experience."

They nodded. My partner finished setting up the equipment and called me over to start the computer commands.

The screen flickered on. The girl was lying in her bed, and as we watched, she opened her eyes and got out of bed. Her legs were there, whole and healthy-looking. She had on blue and yellow striped long socks, red gloves, and a long pink coat with bear ears at the top, as well as 101 stamped across the forehead of the coat.

"Her favorite coat," her mother said softly. "She was so sad when it got too small for her."

A floating pair of dice appeared in front of the girl. She started to follow them . . .

_Beep_

_ Beep_

_ Beep_

* * *

This is a really fun game! I can see other players too, but they're on the Lose a Turn squares, so they have to wait. There's a woman with short brown hair and glasses . . . a girl with green hair and a school uniform . . . a girl with blue-green hair and a black outfit . . . and a girl with long brown hair and a magic rainbow pen! I wave to them, but they don't see me. Oh, well.

I look up at the sky and see a const . . . a bunch of stars shaped like scissors. They start laughing at me and saying "Where are you going, little girl?" They try to get me, but the dice show me 4 and 3, so I move 7 squares forward and get away from them. Suddenly I'm in a forest!

The next numbers are 2 and 4, so I move 6 squares forward and the sun starts shining! Next are 4 and 5, and at the 9th square, I see a tea party. Everyone's laughing and asking me to sit with them. I decide to take a break.

Someone tells me that I have to keep going, because time is running out.

I wonder why?

_Beep_

_ B e e p_

_ Beep_

This time I get a 2 and 1, so I move up three places. There's a castle there, and as I watch, the doors open and a handsome prince steps out. Over his prince clothes, he's wearing a dark blue cape that has white fur with black spots on the edges. He has a sparkly gold crown on his head of blue hair. He smiles when he sees me and bows.

"My lady," he says, "will you have this dance with me?"

I smile and nod. He holds out his hand and I take it. We start to dance to some really nice music. He has a kind of faraway look in his eyes, like he's somewhere else, but they're still really pretty. When the music ends, our dance comes to a halt. We bow to each other. He takes my hand, kisses it, and says "You must go now, princess. You're running out of time."

I nod, but I don't know why I nod. I roll the dice again and get a 1 and 4, so I move five spaces forward. This time I end up in a thick jungle. A bunch of strange sounds reach my ears. A giant turtle walks by, and a bird flies over my head.

I never liked jungles much.

This time I get two 4s, but when I reach the last square, a lot of shadows start chasing me. They cry, "Heretic! Heretic!" They chase me back 3 squares.

What's a heretic?

The square I end on tells me to move forward √2 spaces. I don't know what to do, so I skip that turn.

_B e e p_

_ Beep_

_ B e e p_

The dice keep saying "Hurry up, hurry up, you're running out of time."

For the first time, I wonder if I'm dreaming or if this is real. Then I realize that I don't really care.

I look up at the sky and see a constellation with two angles. It says "Come closer, please." I ignore it and roll the dice. They turn up as 4 and 6, so I move 10 spaces forward and wade across a wide river.

6 and 5 . . . I'm getting tired of walking.

6 and 6 . . . I see those girls on the Lose a Turn spaces that I saw earlier. They start to disappear, one by one, until only I am left.

When I land on the 12th space, I get the wing prize. But I'm so tired by now that I start to cry a little bit.

I wonder why?

_B e e p_

_ B e e p_

_ B e e p_

I roll the dice and look at the numbers. They're hard to make out, but I know instinctively that they add up to 13.

The 13th space leads me up a flight of steps. I use the wing prize to fly all the way to the top. When I see the door marked 101, I realize that I've come to

_B e e p_

my own bed. Was that the goal all along?

Still . . . I want to play some more. The game

_B e e p_

was really fun to play. To the floating dice, I say "Goodbye! I hope we can play again tomorrow!"

I open my door and walk in. A woman is sitting on my bed. She has white skin, white hair, and a white dress. She's holding a transparent black globe floating over her hands. She looks up and smiles at me, then vanishes. I lie in my bed and close my eyes.

* * *

_ . . . _

The girl slowly ceased breathing. She died with a small smile on her face. My partner reached over and gently took the helmet off her head. Her eyes were shut, and she seemed at peace.


End file.
